


God of Sex

by Artemis_Dreamer



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Chicago!bashing, Crack, FrostIron - Freeform, Impersonation, Lime, Loki'd, M/M, Mind Control, Mischief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 04:52:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis_Dreamer/pseuds/Artemis_Dreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Loki impersonates Tony, throws an epic-scale party, and gets lucky. In that order. Loki'd!</p>
            </blockquote>





	God of Sex

All six of Tony Stark's outdated display-only Iron Man suits were circling above his Malibu mansion that night – not circling, exactly, but rather flying in complex looping patterns. They drew closer and further apart, and blasts of repulsor energy would flare out, meet in mid-air, and explode like vivid, incredibly deadly fireworks.

Terrifyingly awesome, made more awesome by the pounding dance music that caused the very air around the mansion to vibrate along to the beat of the bass.

Oh, the neighbors would complain. Heck, the neighbors were probably already deaf - after all, Tony could hear the music clearly from his private helicopter nearly half a mile west of the mansion (even over the whirling propeller blades).

An epic party was clearly going down, a true Stark-style party... Or it would be Stark-style, if Tony had actually been there, or organized it, or even known about it until about thirty seconds ago, when he had entered Stark airspace.

As the copter began to descend, three things became apparent. Firstly, that was one HUGE new skylight (hurray for what had clearly been a DIY explosive reno). Secondly, there were at least fifteen police cars, all crumpled and burning, strewn in large chunks over the grounds - one was actually half-inside the hot tub. Thirdly, there was a strange, intoxicating energy pulsating in the air, energy that went far beyond any music, and it was making the billionaire’s hair stand on end.

The second that the chopper had landed, he attempted to get a response out of JARVIS. He got nothing, just what sounded like drunken hiccups and a fit of giggling. He tried not to ponder that too closely - AIs couldn't get drunk, damn it!

The music hit him like a brick wall as he pulled open the rooftop access door. On The second floor, near the railing overlooking the main floor, he stopped dead, ears ringing.

Holy shit. His mansion had been turned into an official party paradise.

Speakers more than twice his height stood in every corner, blasting ridiculously hyperactive dance music (rave music?), heavy on the bass. Nearly a hundred guests, all clearly drunk and nearly naked, were gyrating and collapsing on top of one another on the floor. As he watched, glitter bombs exploded from the ceiling, and the red and yellow laser lights flashed increasingly more erratically, strobe patterns blinding in the nightclub-style darkness.

He could barely see the guests in the noisy, glitter-filled space, but it was obvious that they were mostly female, and all absolutely drop dead gorgeous - Think a convention of Playboy and Playgirl models.

Groups were grinding, taking shots, or even - if his eyes weren't playing tricks on him - having a small dance floor orgy.

That, however, wasn't what had caught his eye. Makeshift stages had been erected on both sides of the open-concept space that was his main floor, illuminated by spotlights. A third spotlight illuminated the well-stocked bar.

The first stage featured three stripper poles, and three very familiar strippers Agent Hill, Agent Romanoff and Pepper Potts - being absolutely showered with what he knew were large-denomination bills. 

Wait a goddamn second. Two SHIELD agents and his CEO were pole-dancing, and no-one appeared to be threatening their lives to make them do it. In fact, the way Pepper was grinding against the pole looked downright enthusiastic, Hill seemed to have really let her hair down (literally), and Romanoff was all seductive lips and fiery hair, no sign of anything other than teasing desire on her face.

What the actual hell.

Now significantly more aroused than he should have been, he tried to force Tony Jr. to behave as his eyes strayed to the bar. Nothing special here, just enough tequila to float a warship, and a blissed-out Bruce Banner mixing colorful drinks in an assortment of beakers, shot-glasses, test tubes, and champagne flutes.

Oh, perfectly normal - he could feel his mind whirring furiously for an explanation.

Finally, his eyes landed on the other stage, and his jaw really dropped. A massive golden throne, perhaps six feet across and draped with a white fur pelt, with none other than himself sitting there. 

Yes, Tony Stark, wearing Armani boxers and a loosened tie, with nothing else on except a pair of six-inch red stilettos. Speechless wasn't even the word.

That was, until he noticed the three men arrayed around the throne. This imposter-Tony had a gold chain looped around each wrist, chains that ended in leather collars around the necks of a scantily clad Clint (on the right), and barely-covered Steve (on the left). His stiletto clad legs rested across Thor's naked back, heels digging in in a way that looked thoroughly painful – the god had been chained in a kneeling position to the base of the throne.

Holy shit. This imposter Stark had it damn, damn good. Now fully hard, the real Tony watched as Clint and Steve slowly poured shots of what was probably Patron down the imposter's bare, lipstick-marked chest. In an instant, a half-dozen of the female guests had descended on the throne, lapping the liquor off of his body and positively groping him.

Not even remotely hard, the imposter smirked, and then spoke. His voice cut cleanly through the thundering music, tone amused.

“The next round of our special game begins now. You three,” he indicated three of the eager whores at random ,“will be competing for the next block." A wave of his hand, and Director Fury (holy shit, Director Fury!) appeared with three bananas on a silver tray.

“One each.” The imposter continued, indicating the fruits held by the white-leather-chaps-clad director. "Deep-throat them. The most arousing tease will be picking the block."

They did as he said, they damn well did, Tony going weak at the knees and clutching the railing for support as he watched three Playboy Bunnies peel and go down on the bananas. 

The winner was obvious, the blonde who fell to her knees and moaned as she swallowed around the three-quarters of the fruit that was down her throat. The whole dance floor was watching now, entranced, as she reached down to touch herself, blushing scarlet as she slowly removed the curved fruit from the hot wetness of her mouth.

The imposter, still not even slightly hard, indicated her with a wave of his hand (a hand that seemed to have nails painted with black nail polish).

"Spectacular. Now," he indicated a massive 70" plasma screen mounted on the wall, "choose your block." There was some sort of grid on the screen, perhaps 10 by 15, with nearly two thirds of the squares now red. She pointed towards a green one.

“C4!” She squealed, the voice of a coked-up blonde.

"C4 indeed," the imposter purred, prompting a collective sigh of desire to ripple through the room, audible even over the music. Brandishing a remote, he pressed a series of buttons. The screen now flickered to show what appeared to be a city block. A green countdown appeared in the top right corner.

3\. 2. 1.

The block exploded.

Tony's eyes went wide with horror.

Wild cheers erupted from the guests, and peals of laughter.

“Next round in twenty minutes," The imposter smirked. "Now, you filthy slut, turn the music up!" His gaze as he gave this last order drew Tony's attention to the DJ turntable.

As the music was turned up yet another agonizing decibel, Tony saw that none other than Justin Hammer was at the controls, appearing flushed and very, very unstable. Wow - a whole new level of drunk-and-yet-still-somehow-standing.

Alright. Tony took stock. It was 2:59 a.m. There was some sort of sex nightclub party in his mansion. His suits could be seen buzzing through the air above (thanks to the ragged rectangular hole in the roof). A city block somewhere had just been detonated, his double was in the driver's seat, and the Avengers seemed to be in on the whole thing.

What the actual fucking hell.

Clasping his hands in front of his crotch to hide the lingering erection, he descended the stairs, hoping to get to the imposter without attracting much attention. That plan pretty much went down the shitter when a fourth spotlight flared to life, trained on him and following his progress down the stairs.

The music was instantly turned down, becoming merely background noise and leaving his ears ringing from the change in volume and pressure.

“Ah. The man of the hour is here at last. Mortals and quims, whores and sluts, welcome the true Anthony Stark!” The imposter announced dramatically, his diction sounding eerily familiar.

A comical gasp resounded through the space, punctuated by a particularly jarring bass drop.

"You see," the unknown individual continued, "I am not he. No, I am not Mister Stark, but rather I am the god Loki. The God of Chaos, Mischief, and Sex. You may kneel when ready."

As he said this, his image flickered, revealing the long, lean and conceited form of the trickster lounging on the throne. There were no screams. There was a moment of silence and stillness.

“Dance!" The god commanded, and damn did the music obey, leaping to such a high volume that it rattled the billionaire's teeth in his skull. The stillness was broken, bodies flying back into frantic blurs of motion in time with the pulse of the rhythm, as if they had never stopped.

Staring at the gorgeous God who had hijacked his mansion, Tony saw a pair of smoldering green eyes staring right back into his. The trickster crooked a finger. ‘Come here,’ was the silent command; and damn if Stark didn't obey in a heartbeat, eyes roaming over Loki's pale form as he approached the throne.

Tight, sinfully tight leather pants had replaced the boxers, and a gold silk scarf had replaced the tie. He still wore his stiletto heels, and his bare upper body was still drenched in liquor and marked with lipstick. 

Tony climbed the last step, only to watch the three male Avengers, now free from the chains, descend the stage and melt into the oversexed crowd.

“Anthony.” The god purred, reaching out to snag the billionaire’s wrist. 

A light tug, a twist of the arm, and he had been dragged down on top of the deity, inadvertently becoming far too close for comfort. Apparently, they were also too close for the Trickster's comfort, because Stark could feel the other man's cock beginning to harden at last, straining against the leather to press against his inner thigh. Hard, but only for him. Tony had to be honest, he was a bit flattered and a lot turned on.

“You," Loki smirked at the speechless Tony, "are wearing entirely too much clothing." The crisp grey pinstripe suit was gone in an instant, leaving him in the imposter's uniform, of his boxers and his tie.

Tony chuckled breathily as the air touched his flushed bare skin. "God of Sex, are you?" he teased, reaching down to touch his own erection "Why would a god be so desperate for a mortal like me?"

“You fascinate me, Anthony." Loki growled lightly, catching his hands by the wrists. ''I drew you to me. Now, I'll have you, over and over, until I make you mine.”

Well, that was direct.

With that he crushed his mouth against Tony's, surprisingly cold lips meeting with ones that were far warmer, in a violent clash for dominance. Loki's tongue was in his mouth, probing, teasing, and completely perfect. The taste of scotch on the deity’s tongue was nearly overwhelming. Then, before Tony could process exactly what was happening, the god had pulled away, leaving Stark whimpering and desperate for more.

Elegant fingers skimmed his abdomen, stroking his clothed erection. "Oh, you want me, Anthony,” Loki purred, and Tony swore that if he got any harder, he would pass out from lack of blood flow to the brain. "You want me, but you can't have me until you beg for mercy. Twice.”

Emerald eyes, lined with smudged, smoky eyeliner, met his for a moment, the mischief-maker licking his now-swollen lips.

“You will suck me, Stark, swallow me as deeply as you can. You will bring me to release once, twice, a dozen times. Then, then I will indulge you.”

Desperately scrabbling, Tony's fingers clawed away the material of those leather leggings - too tight to really be pants - and then he nearly came in his boxers. The most massive, perfect cock that he had seen in... well, a lifetime, and he was expected to swallow every last inch.

The energy that had hung in the air, which he had felt from the first moment that he had set foot in the mansion, was recognizable now. It was pure lust. Lust that was gripping him more tightly with each passing moment. Cracking his jaw with anticipation, he smirked. Tony Stark did not submit willingly, and he wasn't about to play nice. This God would be begging long before he was, and-

He gagged, moaning in surprise, as Loki forced the billionaire to his knees and thrust that impossible length into Tony's hot, moist mouth - without any warning whatsoever.

This would be a battle for dominance all night long, the best fuck that Tony had ever and would ever have in his life, bar none, and a fuck that was decidedly in Loki's top ten.

They would stop eventually – paralyzed with exhaustion, Tony worn out long before Loki, until the god was climaxing again and again into a spent and limp form that could barely even shiver with pleasure - but right now, the heat of their desire, their sheer lust, meant that sex was quite literally the only thing on either of their minds.

Hot, wet, screaming, multiple-orgasming, voyeuristic sex.

All night long.

\---

Tony awoke the next morning laid out on the floor in front of the throne, dizzy and remarkably hung-over, even though he could swear that he hadn't drunk a drop. 

The God of Chaos and Mischief (and sex, as if he could forget that) was gone, but the mess of liquor, glitter and unconscious people certainly wasn't.

He was stark naked - tee hee Stark - and covered in hickeys, bite marks and bruises. He was exhausted, and felt so limp and sexed-out that he doubted he could even stand. He could honestly say that he had never, ever been this painfully and blissfully tired after sex. Then again, he had never, ever had sex with a God before.

He appeared to be the first to stir, and it had not yet sunk in exactly how much trouble was about to descend on his head. He didn't know that the other Avengers has been mind-controlled, and would remember every last detail save for the most important one, blaming him for everything. He also didn't know that there were now six piles of scrap metal, which had once been his treasured Iron Man suits, crushed like swatted bugs on what was left of the roof.

All that really registered in his mind was that feeling of having been buried up to the hilt in a tight, willing god, who had been moaning wantonly as he mercilessly rode the billionaire, and - and oh for fuck's sakes, now he was rock hard all over again. Goddamnit.

It was about then that he looked down at his body, to discover that across his abdomen was a word written in six-inch glowing green letters: "Loki'd!" It didn't come off for a week.  
HE didn't get out of jail for six days, and didn't come off of the Californian government's blacklist for six months, thank you Stark lawyers. 

It was the first time, but it wouldn't be the last. (The orgasmic super-villain sex, not the epic-scale parties, because Loki wasn't fond of pulling the same trick twice, even if Stark begged).

Officially, nothing had happened. SHIELD made damn sure of that.

Unofficially? This had been the start of something scorchingly hot and terrifyingly perfect.

(Oh, and as it so happened, those city blocks had been in Chicago, so no one really gave a shit.)

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is complete and undisputable crack. It was also my first attempt at light citrus. 
> 
> So, please tell me what you thought - all comments, criticism and complaints are welcome.
> 
> The world needs more FrostIron nonsense, and I'm happy to provide it.


End file.
